[Book 1 Completed] Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World [Kingdom Building LitRPG]
B2 | Chapter 4 – Brick-Maxxing

A field of beautiful reddish-brown clay lay before him simply begging to be violated.

That did not sound right.

Theodore let out a sigh.

He had been looking for this particular shade of clay for four days amidst his work. This stuff. This perfect, reddish-brown clay with exactly the right amount of silica and alumina and that impossible-to-describe-but-you-know-it-when-you-feel-it plasticity.

He rolled up his sleeves as the snow fell.

"Alright," he muttered to absolutely no one, because talking to yourself while performing manual labor was clearly the mark of a well-adjusted nobleman.

First, he needed to clean up the field.

Or, more accurately, commit snowcide on a massive scale.

A sea of fire erupted from his outstretched palms. On the way to the ground, each flake performed a special ballet before being instantly obliterated by fire magic. Under his magical attack, the snow hissed and steamed, melting quickly as it cried in small, inaudible whispers.

Theodore switched to his water rune with ease as the last patches of white vanished, leaving behind that weird half-frozen mud that always somehow gets inside your boots no matter how careful you are. The freshly melted snow reacted immediately, lifting like a curtain into the air. Above, droplets coalesced into a massive, undulating shape.

As he sent the water into the air, Theodore watched it glide across the sky like a liquid cloud, refracting sunlight in stunning patterns that no one else was there to appreciate. Theodore let go as it came to a far-off, deserted meadow. A localized rain of water soaked the ground below, perhaps ruining the day for some unlucky farmer.

In actuality, though, there were no fields belonging to farmers here.

Theodore dropped his hands, satisfied.

The field was clear.

Theodore held out his hand, concentrating on the earth rune. Before him, the clay started to move. It rose in a rough rectangular shape.

"Too wide," he scowled, shifting his focus. The clay narrowed and moved.

Once satisfied with the dimensions—or more accurately, once he'd convinced himself that imperfection had its own charm—Theodore switched to the fire rune. Heat radiated from his palm, enveloping the clay brick with all the precision of a toddler with a magnifying glass on a sunny day.

A few minutes later—

Crack!

With a noise reminiscent of Theodore's dreams and hopes being dashed, the brick broke in two.

"Damn," Theodore moaned, smearing clay across his forehead like war paint and dabbing sweat from his brow. Too much heat, too fast. But really, it was the brick's fault for being so fragile.

Yup, that was the case. Definitely.

He made another attempt. And once more. And then, precisely, seventeen more times. Each attempt created fresh difficulties. The bricks were mushy and crumbly because there wasn't enough heat. Overheating caused them to deform or crack.

Theodore thought about the brickmaking process as he worked through attempts, wishing he could just tell people to make bricks for him and they would do it without asking why their lord had suddenly become obsessed with clay.

On Earth, the first step in making bricks was choosing the proper clay, which should be a blend of silica and alumina with good plasticity—just like his current project, except with machines and people who actually knew what they were doing.

Traditionally, to get the right consistency, this clay would typically be removed, aged, and combined with water. After that, the mixture would be shaped into bricks by hand or by machine, neither of which would require the use of magical heat that may burn one's eyebrows.

Only Goddess Nur knew how many times he'd done that while training…

Now that he had [Healing Touch], he could be much more careless.

In any case, these unfinished bricks would be molded into brick shapes and then allowed to slowly dry to avoid cracking. Finally, they'd be fired in kilns at high temperatures, which was approximately "really hot" to "really, really hot" in Theodore's current magical estimation system.

Chemical changes brought about by this firing process would fuse the clay particles and give bricks their distinctive durability and strength. From clay extraction to the final product, the entire process often took a few weeks, which was approximately "way too long."

So, Theodore needed magical means.

By noon the field was covered with crooked attempts that resembled the mess left over from a toddler's pottery class. Frustrated, Theodore sat hard on the ground. About 78% of his bare skin was covered in clay.

"Having trouble, my lord?"

Looking up, Theodore saw Jack coming toward him with a wry smile that said, I've been watching your failures for the past ten minutes, but I waited for the dramatically appropriate moment to announce my presence.

Theodore stood up and tried to look dignified despite being coated in clay. "Nothing worth doing is easy, I suppose," he said. "And nothing easy is worth doing, which is why I'm out here making bricks instead of drinking wine and reviewing tax collections like a normal lord."

Jack flipped one of the failed bricks over in his palms as if it were an intriguing archeological find. "Interesting approach. Using magic to replicate the traditional process? Rather than, say, hiring actual brickmakers?"

"Traditional brickmaking takes weeks. We don't have that kind of time. Winter's gonna be hard, the town needs buildings."

"True enough," Jack thought as he thoughtfully stroked his chin, managing to keep his spotless clothes from getting any clay on them. "A slower heating process, perhaps? Mimic a kiln's gradual burn? Just an idea."

Theodore's eyes lit up. "Jack, you're brilliant! That's exactly what I—wait, was that sarcasm? No, never mind, I'm taking it as genuine brilliance."

Jack's smile twitched slightly.

"Happy to help, my lord. Always a pleasure to state the obvious and be praised for it."

Theodore gave it another go, but this time he began with a modest, constant heat and increased it gradually. As the minutes passed, the brick's color intensified, first glowing a dull red and then brighter. Theodore was certain that he heard the brick sighing happily.

Theodore understood that many of them would still break. Like death and taxes, the cracking was inevitable. His goal, however, was to reduce the number of casualties.

It occurred to him that being able to precisely control the heating process was essential, which was similar to saying that floating was crucial to swimming.

He concentrated on gradually removing moisture from the brick's center outward to give the clay particles time to settle and compact evenly. It required a level of concentration usually reserved for pretending to listen during council meetings while actually planning dinner. He trusted Cedric enough to leave the old man with everything.

Additionally, he experimented with adjusting the clay mixture itself, adding a small amount of sand or grog (pre-fired clay ground into a powder) to reduce shrinkage and provide better structural stability during the rapid drying and firing process.

The fact that he knew the term "grog" made him feel unreasonably smug.

He was starting to go a little crazy.

Through careful manipulation of heat and composition—and with Jack occasionally pointing out the obvious with that infuriating tone that suggested Theodore would never have figured it out himself (Jack was doing it intentionally, Theodore knew)—he was able to produce bricks free of cracks in minutes as opposed to weeks by carefully controlling composition and heat.

Finally, Theodore let the heat dissipate.

Before him sat a perfectly formed brick.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, grinning widely. "Now we're getting somewhere! Look at this magnificent specimen! Perfect corners! Ideal! This brick could seduce other bricks with its sheer perfection!"

Jack cocked an eyebrow.

"Perhaps let's not anthropomorphize the building materials quite so enthusiastically, my lord."

Theodore waved him off.

"You just don't understand our connection."

With his "breakthrough" achieved, Theodore's productivity practically soared.

The sun arced across the sky. Brick by brick, his pile grew. Occasionally, he would place them in small groups, acting as though they were little kingdoms made of bricks engaged in combat. At the moment, the north brick kingdom was winning because of its better location on the somewhat higher land.

The next day, he repeated the process. And the next day. And the next.

By the time he finished, he had leveled up his skills, made runes that automated the process, burned his hair a couple of times and quickly used [Healing Touch] to heal, and he had developed an emotional attachment to at least seven individual bricks that he'd secretly named.

Oh, and he'd reached a meditative trance—for there was something profound about brickmaking.

[Elemental Spells] has leveled up! – Lvl 17 > Lvl 19!

[Meditation] has leveled up! – Lvl 13 > Lvl 15!

[Healing Touch] has leveled up! – Lvl 5 > Lvl 7!

[Basic Rune Creation] has leveled up! – Lvl 14 > Lvl 16!

Theodore gazed at his creations with the pride of a new parent.

Enough, he hoped, after a day or two more

These will certainly speed up building projects. The town could use more sturdy structures before winter truly sets in. Assuming these actually hold together and don't dissolve in the first rainstorm.

In fact, he ought to have tested that.

Frowning, Theodore immediately spent hours ensuring that the bricks met his standards.

***

After giving Theodore a long look, Roland carefully put the brick down.

"You've named them."

"Just a few favorites.”

"..."

Roland looked at him blankly.

Theodore coughed.

"For now, I'd suggest a hot meal and some rest. You look dead on your feet. And possibly delirious." Roland said, giving him an out.

As though on cue, Theodore's stomach rumbled loudly, with the distinct resonance of an organ left untended while its owner spent the entire day playing with mud. What a child he was! Once more, he'd worked straight through without pause, again, driven by the peculiar madness that comes from watching rectangles multiply under your command.

"Point taken," he grinned sheepishly. "Food does sound better than clay right now. Marginally."

Theodore gave Gerald a slight nod of goodbye as he took one more glance at his bricks. He sighed in satisfaction and turned away from his soldiers to head for town.

The prospect of a warm meal and a soft bed called to his—figuratively—aching body. And maybe a very strong cocktail to make him forget that he had been talking to bricks all day.

"You know," Roland said as they neared the town's edge in a tone Theodore knew was jest, "with skills like that, you could put half the laborers in Holden out of work. They could form an angry mob with pitchforks and torches."

Theodore laughed. "No fear of that. There's more than enough work to go around. Besides, I don't fancy spending every day making bricks. I've already developed runes to automate the process, and in fact, that's improved my kiln design."

They nodded to the on-duty guards as they went through the town gates, who were examining Theodore's clay-covered body with the deliberate lack of emotion of those who knew better than to question their lord.

"Will you join me for dinner?" As they got closer to the manor, Theodore inquired, secretly hoping that Roland would refuse so he could eat like a savage without being judged.

Roland shook his head. "Another time, perhaps. I've got the night watch to organize. Also, you might want to bathe first. You look like you've been wrestling with a clay golem. And lost."

"Sure."

Roland's amused look told him Theodore had agreed far too quickly, but Roland only shook his head:

"Enjoy your evening, my lord. And your... brick collection."

Theodore ascended the stairs to the manor's entryway as Roland left. His mouth began to water as the aroma of cooking food wafted from within. Pushing the door open, Theodore entered. His clothing was so soiled that it seemed hopeful to launder it—burning could be a better option. Indeed, there were patches where his clothes had been burned. He had experimented with fire without hesitation. He was also more hungry than he had been in a long time.

Two maids were already waiting, having been alerted to his arrival by the trail of clay dust he was leaving in his wake.

"Bath's ready, my lord," one of them said, pointing to the restroom while maintaing a respectful distance from him.

Theodore nodded gratefully. "Excellent. Let's make this quick, shall we? I'm starving and there's clay in places I didn't know I had."

Without hesitation, he threw off his dirty clothing in the bathroom, each one thwapping on the floor. While the other maid poured warm water over him, cleaning away the worst of the dirt, the first maid collected them efficiently for washing, or perhaps exorcism.

As Theodore washed up, he asked, "Any news from town? Besides my apparent career change to brick artisan?"

"Just excitement about your brickmaking, my lord," she replied, averting her eyes but maintaining a professional demeanor. "Folk are curious what you'll build first. There's a betting pool. The bathhouse is currently favored three-to-one."

Clean and refreshed, Theodore stepped out of the wash basin. The maids swiftly dried him off.

"Much better," he sighed, slipping on the fresh clothes they provided. "Thank you both. And put me down for a few aurums on the bathhouse. Heh."

***

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